


Merry Christmas Daryl Dixon

by Axistentialgue



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axistentialgue/pseuds/Axistentialgue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m working on short story's about Daryl Dixon's early years. We know that it had been traumatic at times. I'm hoping there will be more if I get inspired, but they will not be in any chronological order Because when we remember our childhood it’s not always in in a straight line. Smells, events, sounds sometimes trigger random memories. It will be like that with these little drabbles.<br/>I’m looking for ideas right now. Maybe you could be my inspiration. This Christmas story was actually inspired by another TV show. Supernatural. In that episode Sam remembered a Christmas much different than Dean did. It was a sad day for both of them for different reasons. And that is how it should be for the Dixon's. I hope you enjoy, please let me know. I don't usually share my work since I don't know if it's any good. This is my first attempt so be kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The Walking Dead, nor any of it's Characters.

Merry Christmas Daryl Dixon  
At four-year-old Daryl was a scrawny kid, in dire need of a haircut, and a bath. The child was also in dire need of a good meal but no one talked about that. What they did talk about was that no one had seen his Mother sober in at least 2 years. No one was really surprised to see the kid wonder the street throwing rocks at signs long after dark. His Dad was on a “ a bender”, he knew. His older brother was still doing “community service” whatever that was, and his Mom was sleeping. She was always sleeping. The child was hungry and knew the fridge was empty except for his Mamma's wine and some cheese that he did not like without bread.  
Out here though it smelled good all up and down the street. Delicious odors he could not imagine the cause of. Something good, something he had never tried before. It made his stomach growl. Made him resent the dry chunk of cheese in his own fridge. Maybe Merle would bring something home. Anything would be better than that cheese.  
It was Christmas. The child had never had a Christmas. Last year his Mamma was drunk and had burned the spaghetti. And the year before that, he could not remember. But last year she had told her boys that, if they were good maybe Santa would bring them something. So he had forced down the burned Noodles and smiled at his drunk mother. He would be good no matter what it took and begged his brother to be good too.  
He’s heard of this mysterious Santa of course. He could not talk to any of the kids on his street for last two months without getting an earful of what Santa was going to bring them for Christmas.  
“You know it’s just a bunch of horse shit little brother?” his brother had whispered in his ear. “She is just feeling guilty.”  
Why his mother would feel guilty he didn’t know. She was a grown up. Why would a grown up ever feel guilty?  
“For what?” he asked genuinely confused.  
“For being a lousy Mom.”  
“But she cooked for us.”  
His brother snorted, a sound the little boy knew well. The sound meant he had said something dumb. He was being stupid. He was always being stupid.  
“Today.” Merle answered as though that was an explanation, it looked like Merle was going to say something else but his mother’s cheerful voice came from the kitchen.  
“Who is ready for some desert?”  
They boys could not believe their luck. Looking at each other in utter amazement. Desert? This had never happened before. Not to Daryl; in four years that was a word he had ever only heard on TV. Or one of the Kids on his street.  
The boys ran for the Kitchen, Merle scooping up Daryl who was ahead of him, but the little guys’ legs where too short to carry him fast enough so Merle in his haste grabbed him up. The boys burst into the Kitchen at the same time as the front door flew open.  
It was as though the air was sucked out of the room.  
His Mother stood at the kitchen counter, with an ice cream scoop in her hand, a tub of chocolate ice cream melting of the counter with 3 miss matched bowls lined up at the edge. It was right there, so close. If he had only stayed away for one more night. Ten more minutes would have been enough.  
The room froze. The smiles melted, yes melted of their faces.  
Then, the room exploded.  
Daryl could not remember clearly what was said. Something about wasting the hard earned money, useless Kids and drunk whores. And as his Dad chased his Mother around the kitchen with his fists the ice cream melted into a milky soup on the counter and the night ended with her sobbing under the table, Daryl hiding in a cupboard liking at his fat bloodied lip and Merle yelling at him to stay in the cupboard, punctuated by the sound of fists colliding with a body.  
There was no reason to think that this year would be any different. The only difference this year was; Dad was at home. And he was acting really wired. Talking to himself. Acting scary. Well scarier than usual. Or maybe just a different scary, but maybe they could bypass the beating by just staying away. He would just wait for his big brother. He always felt a little safer with his big brother around.  
The wonderful odors where teasing him and more than anything made him whish his life could be like that. Had those odors in it, instead he stood in the growing darkness freezing, shivering because in his haste to get out of the house he had forgotten to take an extra jacket.  
Looking for any kind of comfort the little boy headed towards Harry’s house.  
Harry possibly his only friend. Harry sometimes called on him to play. Daryl had a feeling Harry’s parents where not thrilled about it, but so far at least neither Daryl’s nor Harry’s parents had actively tried to put a stop to it. And as if his whish was about to come true Harry’s door opened and the entire family spilled out of the front door. A little confused Daryl stopped in his tracks on his way up the driveway.  
Harrys parents looked at him with that look on their face, that look he knew well already at his tender age. Pity, disdain, the grownups looked down their noses at him. How he hated that look. He knew that look was reserved for the likes of him and bad things like him.  
“What you doing out here at this time boy?”  
Caught completely off guard the little boy blinked his eyes big. Harry was all dressed up. He had never seen his friend’s parents in formal clothe. Mr. Dupree was wearing a suite and a green tie and Mrs. Dupree whore a beautiful dress with a long coat over it. Harry and his sister wore nice clothes as well. It dawned on Daryl that Harry would probably not be allowed to play in his little suit. And it did not look like his friends’ parents would let Harry play.  
Remembering that Mr. Dupree had asked him a question he shuddered. “I-I-I wanted to see..” he swallowed. “Where are you going?”  
“Boy it’s Christmas, Don’t you know nothing? We are going to Church.”  
Daryl felt real stupid. What did church have to do with Christmas. It was all about Santa, Food and presents. Wasn’t it?  
“Go on home child before you catch your death in this weather.” Mrs. Dupree was much nicer, though she too did not want the Dixon boy around her son.  
Daryl though old enough to understand that he should not have to hide from his parents, and wise enough to realize these people thought him a lesser person, was still too young to lie effectively. Stammering out some sort of transparent excuse as to why he was not in his house, he could tell the Dupree’s did not buy his story. “My Momma she .. is sleeping, and my Dad is .. is sleeping too.”  
“Go home boy.” Mr. Dupree told him gruffly. And ushered his family into the family car. Daryl watched them drive off still wondering why they had gone off to Church. He kicked his way down the sidewalk towards his house. The closer he got the greater the dread growing in his empty belly. He did not want to be in that house. His Dad may very well, have passed out in front of the TV. Which would have been OK. Daryl was afraid of encountering his Father awake. The thought of his Father awake was enough to stop him at the front door.  
His door was easily the shabbiest door on the street. It was a sheet of plywood, reinforced with 2x4 cross beams. The door though sturdy didn’t resemble any of the other doors. But at 4 he did not know enough to asked himself why. And as he got older he was so used to the state the house was in he did not even notice nor mind. It was just the way things were. An ugly house inhabited by an ugly family with ugly lives.  
But tonight? Tonight with the very air saturated with the smells of good food cooking and smoke from wood fires burning a little boy still young enough to hope, hoped for something, someone to rescue him for just this one night. So he could have a Christmas too. Santa would come to his house too.  
He had tried to hard to be a “good boy”. Henry told him Santa left presents for good children. So Daryl tried so hard to be a good boy. To not make his parents angry. Don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t be rough with the pansy asses he played with. They were not tough like a Dixon, his Daddy always said. He said Ma’am and Sir and didn’t cuss and didn’t talk back. Surely Santa if he cared at all for even a Dixon, surely Santa would have noticed.  
Too cold to stay out any longer he gave up on waiting for Merle and entered the house, quiet as a mouse.  
A wood fire was burning in the den of his house to. The Den and kitchen where overheated. His Dad was sitting in the old easy chair, shirtless with his fly unbuttoned and bottle of shine still in his hand. But he had passed out. The TV was running but Daryl was not allowed to watch TV when his Dad was home. So he crept right on by the open den door, and tiptoed up the stairs. Hugging the wall side of the stairs to avoid them from creaking, he slipped into his and Merle’s room un-noticed.  
It was dark in his room. And as hot as it was downstairs it was cold up here. The heat did not spread through the house. Even if it did, Daryl was not afraid of the Dark so much or the cold as he was of being alone with his parents. He felt safer with the door firmly shut and the light out. Don’t give anyone a reason to come into the room.  
Shivering with cold as he slipped out his jeans and sweater he pulled on a sweatpants and crawled under the blanket, where he stayed shivering and shattering his teeth for a while before the bed warmed up enough to allow his little body to relax and drifted off to sleep, with thoughts of this strange day on his mind.  
The Dixon house was not decorated. Not inside and certainly not outside. There was no Christmas music playing here, nor did he ever see the holyday cartoons. He did not know ‘A Charley Brown Christmas,” or “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”  
But he wanted it. He wanted what his friend had, he wanted that stupid decorated tree, the presents, the laughter. But most of all he wasted the food and his parents smiling at him, just this one day. Just this once. And fell asleep wishing with all the might of a four year olds heart that he would wake up to the tree, and those wonderful smells coming from his kitchen. Maybe if he wished hard enough…….  
A door slammed downstairs.  
It was the backdoor. The only door still in tacked enough and not too warped to slam.  
Heavy boots stomped through the kitchen heading straight for the stairs. Sounds Daryl knew well.  
“Merle? That you?” his Dad yelled from the den where the old bastard still sat in his easy chair. “Keep the fucking noise down ya useless bastard. Gonna wake up the house.”  
The grumbling answer told Daryl all he needed to know about the state his brother was in. And the kind of night he could look forward on having.  
Merle was drunk too. At 15 Merle was way too young to get drunk, but Daryl didn’t really know that. What he did know that he did not like it. His brother too got mean when he was drunk. So he made sure to stay as quiet as a mouse as Merle burst through the door and headed straight for the bed he was sharing with his little brother.  
The teen ager through himself onto the bed pulled the blankets over himself, still fully dressed smelling of booze urine and other unpleasant things, his shoes still on his feet he pulled much of the blanket off his little brother but was much too drunk to notice or care and was in fact asleep before he was done pulling the blanket over his shoulders.  
Daryl knew it was useless to try to get his brothers attention to take off his shoes or let him have more blanket. It would be an uncomfortable night. Pushing his little body closer to Merle’s for body heat he found he could still tug the blanket around himself as well. Daryl fell back to sleep. Still hoping that maybe, just this once tomorrow……  
What Daryl did not know, because he was too young to read time, was that it was already tomorrow. It was 4:30 in the morning and the sun was late because it was winter. Christmas.

BLAM  
Daryl shot out of bed and stood in the corner behind the door before the ringing in his ears even registered.  
BLAM.  
Though the shot came from downstairs it seemed impossibly loud in the room even with the door closed.  
BLAM  
“Keep that fucking noise down.” His mother yelled from the bedroom.  
“How many times did I tell you not to shoot that fucking gun off in the house!”

BLAM  
“Shut up woman before I blow your face off. Why ‘d not come down and make me some food. I’m fucking starving.”  
Being roused by the blasts of his Dad shooting in the house was not how he had hoped to wake this morning. It was not how he had imagined a person would act just having encountered a miracle.  
The yelling stopped and was replaced by his mother rolling out of bed noisily. The old bed was creaking his mother coughed and mumbled all the way down the stairs.  
She would make breakfast for her husband, because if she did not, he would knock the last remaining teeth out of her mouth. At least that is what he had promised the last time she told him to go to hell.  
It had been an uncomfortable night for little Daryl. Crammed up against Merle and only half covered the little boy’s feet where ice cold. He dressed as fast as he could. And for good measure pulled another sweater over the one he wore the night before.  
He was anxious to get downstairs for two reasons. His parents were awake and both were hung over and in a bad mood. He wanted to eat, but was not at all sure that was in the cards for him this morning. But he had hopes. Today was Christmas and with any luck he had been good enough for Santa to pay him a visit after all. He could not have tried any harder to be a good boy Santa must have seen that if he existed at all. Excitement and anxiety had him bounding downstairs heedless of the noise he was making and made a bee line for the den where, from all he had heard of Santa, the tree should be set up with gifts beneath it.  
Bursting through the den door he ran straight into his father exiting the den. If there was a tree and gifts in the room he could not see it for his father’s bulk took up his entire field of vision. And when he looked up at his dad with a look of shock and fear on his face the man did not look pleased at all. Daryl cowered away from the man as he bends down towards him with murder on his face, he felt his father’s hand encircle his upper arm and shoved him harshly out of the way.  
“Don’t fucking run in the house you little turd.” He yelled at the child as he landed against the wall.  
The little boy was so shaken up by the erupt turn of this morning he had hoped would be so very different that he let teas of disappointment escape from his eyes.  
There was no tree not gifts no breakfast no smiling parents. There was nothing, nothing to show that today was different from any other day Daryl might have come down from his room only to be tossed about by his father.  
So much for Christmas, so much for Santa, or wishes, or special days. Those things did not apply to this home, to a Dixon or Daryl.  
The little boy picked himself up of the floor, hunger pangs pushed aside by the burgeoning head ache and the pain of blooming bruises forming on his upper arm where his father had grabbed him, and his shoulder hip that had taken the main brunt of the collision. He swallowed a sob. He was not crying because of the pain, he was crying because of the disappointment, of the last remnants of any hopes for a normal childhood evaporating. At four the little boy did not have the vocabulary to explain why he was crying. He only knew that it was wrong and that somehow that was to be his lot in life and it threatened to break his little heart.  
Angrily he wiped the tears of his face swallowed hard and made a promise to himself to never get his hopes up again. To never fall for the if’s or what’s or the might bee’s.  
Instead of asking his father for forgives for his bad behavior he pushed passed the adult and stomped back upstairs to his room. He was not going to give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him.  
Daryl crawled back into bed, pushed his little body into the dived Merle’s bigger one had created in the mattress, drinking in what human warmth there was for the likes of him. At least he still had Merle, at least for now, for as long as it lasted.  
He of course could not go back to sleep. Exhausted as he was the anger that was growing inside him did not allow him to rest just then. After what seemed like hours he rose again and did what he did every morning. Looking for what food had been left over by his parents, he ate some toast and washed it down with some cold coffee and then left the house in search of adventure.  
Daryl could spend hours in the woods. The small town was surrounded by woods. It never took long from anywhere in town to get into the woods. And was still never far from town. A child could easily loose himself between the trees and explore for hours on end. Something Daryl loved doing. After a while he became aware of other kids between the trees. Neighborhood kids trying out their new bikes, or roller skates. Bouncing their new soccer balls and cars. Henry among them. Henry, according to himself had “scored big.” Santa had brought him all kind of toys, and clothes and cookies. He was bursting with the news and bragging to everyone who stood long enough to listen. He insisted of making several runs into the house to bring out and show Daryl all the wonderful stuff Santa had brought him. There was cars and action figures, and new pants and jackets, a sleigh, and a board game, a toy gun and new shews. He shared some chocolate with Daryl and finally after he had pride fully displayed every last bit of Christmas loot he asked his friend what he had gotten from Santa. Daryl at a loss for words, rubbed his arm where his Dad had grabbed him that morning. He never was good at lying on the fly. He thought hard about something, anything he could produce that would make it look like even a Dixon could get lucky, but came up short. He got nothing.  
“You know my parents ain’t got no money.” He said instead.  
“Your parents don’t need to have money. Santa comes anyway. My parents don’t have money either. All this stuff is from Santa.” Henry insisted. “Were you a good boy? If you are a good boy Santa comes to see you.”  
Thinking about the events of the last few month, about how hard Daryl had tried to be good. How he had helped his momma, how he’d always stay out from under his dad’s feet, brought him beer whenever he’d asked for it. Even made his bed and put his clothes away. Going over it in his mind looking for where he might have slipped up he finally came to a conclusion.  
“Man you are dumb.” He announced to his friend. “There ain’t no Santa.”  
He had come to that conclusion fully formed and with conviction. And it was so obvious to him now that he could not understand how anyone could ever be so naïve as to believe that a thing like Santa could exist.  
“Of course he does,” Henry cried out appalled. Both at being called dumb and at having Santa’s existence doubted.  
“Have you ever seen him?” Daryl asked angrily.  
“No.” Henry admitted. “But my parents have.”  
“You parents are liars.” Daryl declared. It was not a stretch for Daryl, grownups lied he knew that to be a fact. But he felt bad at telling Henry when he saw how his friend reacted. Tears sprang into his Henry’s eyes. “My parents are not liars, your parents are.” The boy yelled. “My parents are good; your parents are bad. My Dad said so.”  
“Your dad is a liar. My dad is not nice, but he is not liar.” Daryl stated facts as far as he knew them.  
“Your dad is bad. My dad said so. He is a mean bad man. Everyone knows that.”  
“Everyone knows your dad is a liar.” Daryl countered. He could not in good conscience argue the point that his dad was a mean person. So much was true. But he was not about to admit that his family was worse than Henrys. To admit that would just be to sad.  
“All Dixons are bad. Everyone knows that. Your dad, your mom and Merle and your uncle and you. Everyone knows that.”  
Daryl had never hit anyone before, not in anger not hard. But maybe it was that Henry hitting a little bit too close to the marker or maybe it was that Daryl has had too much disappointment already today, he could never really explain it afterwards, but the child made a fist and punched his friend in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The moment Henry started wailing Daryl took off for his house. The child did not feel guilty for hitting his friend, people hit, that was just another fact, there being no Santa and grownups lying.  
The child all but kicked his front door open and stomped in.  
Merle sat in the kitchen clinging to his coffee mug as though it was a lifeline, grimacing at the noise his little brother made. Polite greetings were something neither one of the boys was familiar with. Though Daryl was happy to see his big brother up and about the first words coming out of his mouth was.  
“Finally, I thought you were never gonna get up. I’m hungry Merle.”  
“Where you been bro? Was that Henry whining like little bitch?”  
“I punched him.”  
Merle raised his eyes to look at his little brother in surprise. Daryl had never hit anyone before. What had prompted the little guy to hit his only friend? “Why?”  
Merle watched his baby brother climb into the chair and theatrically slammed his little fist on the table. “He said there is a Santa, and there isn’t. I told him, and he called be a liar. And he said mom and dad are bad, and he you is bad. And I am bad so I punched him. Cause he is stupid!”  
“Santa huh?” was all Merle said about the subject. “Did mom feed you this morning?”  
“No, that’s why I’m hungry.” Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother’s slowness and did not quite understand the sad look that came over Merle’s face.  
“So Henry; He got a lot of stuff for Christmas?”  
Daryl did not want to talk about all the stuff his friend got. He did not want to think about today being Christmas and the colossal let down he had experienced this morning. He felt stupid for getting his hopes up now, and did not want to admit to being such a baby.  
“He is stupid; he thinks Santa got him all that stuff.”  
It was Daryl’s turn to be surprised. “Your friend believes in kid stuff Kid. It’s kinda sad that you don’t. Can’t. Maybe Santa does exist for the likes o him.”  
“Merle,” Daryl looked at his brother in the child equivalence of pity. He did not want to hurt his brothers feeling but he also didn’t want Merle to make a fool of himself. “There is no Santa Merle, that is kid stuff Merle, you are too old to believe in Kid stuff.”  
His little brother’s earnestness made him smile in spite of the sadness Merle felt for the little guy. When Merle was 4 he’s had grandparents who had given him some of his most treasured childhood memories. Christmas, Eastern, birthdays where day’s Merle got to enjoy, for a little while at least. What a lousy world his little brother grew up in with no one left to show him what family was, show him some kindness. What kind of memories would he have when he grew up?  
It was a snap decision.  
The Kid was hungry he deserved some fun. Merle slapped his baby brother’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.  
“Let’s go to McDugals.” He announced.  
Though he had proved himself old beyond his years just moments before now the little guy jumped up on the chair, pumping a celebratory fist in the air, the way he had seen his brother do a hundred times. Merle mimicked the motion, happy to see there was still a kid in that little body able to enjoy live. He held out his arms indication for Daryl to jump into his arms. Daryl had not jumped at Merle in some time. It was something they used to do when he was smaller. Now Daryl could not remember when they had stopped this little game but it came back to him like no time had passed at all.  
Merle grabbed his one arm and helped his little brother climb onto his back and let the child ride him outside to their Father’s truck.  
He was in a good mood now. Daryl was in a good mood now. Santa, Christmas and stupid Henry all but forgotten. The two Dixon boys drove the mile up the street to McDonald. The Dixon’s idea of fine dining. Merle got Daryl the much coveted “Happy Meal”, it came with a toy, and let his little brother play in the indoor playground. The two of them stayed and Daryl played. For a couple of hours Merle let his little Brother be a Kid. This is what it should be like to be a Kid at least sometimes.  
Of course the time came when they had to leave but as neither of them was ready to go home to “That house” they drove downtown where Merle treated Daryl to a sight he had not seen until then.  
Every year Downtown got decked out in Christmas decorations. Music piped into the streets by loudspeakers. Garlands and lights hung over the streets and one gigantic evergreen tree dominated the roundabout at the center of downtown glittering with a thousand lights and ornaments. Daryl had never seen anything so glorious in his entire live. No matter where they walked downtown they could see that tree, and every rode they took seemed to lead them right back to that tree.  
It was way past a 15-year-old boy’s curfew when Daryl finally got tired enough to be coaxed back into the old truck. The boys where both shattering their teeth from cold when they turned the truck on, but laughed non the less because today had been a good day.  
For Daryl it was the best Christmas ever. He would treasure that little plastic toy he got from that happy meal for years to come as it was the only thing he’d ever gotten on Christmas.  
Though the day ended with the two of them sneaking back into their house and falling into bed with their clothes on shivering and hungry again, the two of them went to sleep with a smile on their faces.  
“Take that Henry.” Daryl thought just before he passed out with exhaustion. “I don’t need no Santa I got a big brother.”


	2. The Boy with the baby in his arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has been in my head for a while. The Boy with the Baby in his Arms is another dark installment of the Dixon brothers troubled childhood. Ever wondered why Merle sees himself kind of as Daryl's "Big Brother?" Maybe he was. Back before Daryl can remember. Before Merle went to Juvie, and jail, and then the Military.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story sort of build itself. I don't know if it's any good. But it leaves me sad, and not just for Daryl, but for Merle as well. As much of Jerk as he grew up to be, he was once just a Kid, in way over his head. And at the end of the day, that is the story I was trying to tell.  
> Also. It's late, I read and re-read. Fixed and patched all day and can't see straight anymore. If I missed anything please let me know so I can fix it, before I embarrass myself too much.

The Boy with a Baby in his Arms.   
It lasted three weeks. Three weeks during which Merle’s mother almost acted like Merle knew a mother should act. Three weeks since she brought home that little worm of an infant and she suddenly remembered that she was a mother. She even smiled on occasion. But Merle was no fool. Merle knew it wouldn’t last. He’d seen it before.   
Something; some mysterious reason would pull her out of her stupor and make her pull herself together for a time. Then for reasons just as mysterious she would lapse and he’d find her passed out on the couch, empty bottles of booze littering what passed as the living room in his house. The longest he had known this new and improved Mother to last was three months or so. He had hoped a new baby in the house would warrant her sobriety for at least that long. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be  
Dad, the son of a bitch had laid into her last night. He’d come home drunk and strung out on something, and just lost it. He’d slapped Merle around some for sitting in his chair. Then the baby had started to cry and had not stopped for anything. Mama was unable to calm him down, she changed him, fed him, or tried to anyway, nothing worked. The woman was damn near useless as a mother.   
Dad had started to yell at Mama, slapped her when she dared to talk back. Merle got the distinct feeling his Mama was trying to hide behind the infant, maybe she was thinking Will, the son of a bitch, would not hit her as long as she held the little worm. He, however, slapped her anyway while she still had the baby in her arms, not caring that he might injure his infant son. He then grabbed the infant by his jumper and dropped him on the lumpy couch as though he was some Thing, which had finally shut him up. Then his Dad laid into his Momma. Chasing her around the room with his fists and kicks and curses. The baby though was quiet like a mouse from then on. Which was even more unnerving than his wailing had been.  
Merle was almost 12 and thought he was tough even scary anywhere, anytime. Faced with his father’s irrational rage, he was just a terrified Kid. He did not even dare retrieve the child while his Dad, the son of a bitch was still slapping his Mom around in front of the couch. When the fight took them into the kitchen Merle grabbed the baby and ran for the safety of the backyard and on into the forest. He didn’t need to go far. He knew that no one would come looking for him out here as long as they couldn’t hear or see him. He would be all right.   
And the baby? From what he guessed, still traumatized from being dropped on the couch, was quiet.  
Merle wondered if the Kid was now brain damaged or something. Cause, he knew from his Grandma that could happen to a little kid that got knocked around. How he missed that old lady, the only person his Dad the son of a bitch was scared of.   
That night like many other nights Merle did not get any sleep. Hiding out in the woods until the noise in his house died down, and then some more waiting for his Dad and Momma to pass out. He didn’t deem it safe to return to the house until almost dawn when he saw his Dad, the son of a bitch, get into the old beat up truck and take off again. To where he did not know, nor did he care as long as the bastard wasn’t there.   
Merle made his way back into the house, laid his tiny baby brother in the drawer that was his bed and laid down exhausted to get some sleep himself. Scary as the night had been, it never occurred to Merle to complain or ask for help. Who would he complain to? Who would care, but more importantly, what could they do that would not make things even worse. As bad as things were at the Dixon house, it was a BAD Merle was familiar with. He was terrified of what else might be out there, though he would never admit it. At least here he was with family, his blood.   
It was probably noonish when the baby woke him with his cries. Though still exhausted Merle made himself get up to deal with the situation. He knew his mother would not.  
Part of him was relieved the Kid decided to act like a normal infant again but the child in him resented the baby for being so needy and his parents for being such deadbeats.   
Merle would miss school again today. But he didn’t care. He didn’t know enough to care. Missing school was just a fact of life for him. Merle missed a lot of school and people in town or school had long since stopped caring about the Dixon clan. His Dad had seen to that. You just did not mess with Will Dixon nor his affairs. Not if you wanted to keep your teeth.   
Snatching his brother up out of the drawer he searched his mother out and found her passed out in her room. Merle was pissed off more than anything else; looking on as she was passed out drunk in bed, ignoring the wailing infant. A burning cigarette was still dangling from her hand. Yup, well he’d known it wouldn’t last. One of these days that damned woman would manage to burn the house down.  
But now Merle found himself charged with the task of keeping the little worm quiet, fed and most importantly, out of his parent's clutches and alive. Though Merle could not explain why that would be better he couldn’t bring himself to leave the baby to his fate which almost certainly would lead to the Kid’s death post haste. Why he cared he didn’t know. He knew better than anyone else that the little guy’s life would most certainly mean pain, terror, and neglect. Why not let him die? It’d be over for him. And Merle might have, had he been capable of feeling sorry for himself or anyone else. Every time he tried to walk away or tried to shut out the pathetic wails of the tiny child he felt the almost visceral need to keep the Kid alive as though his own survival depended on it.  
Merle kicked the bed hard against the frame with enough force to move the bed and its contents including its passenger a few inches across the floor with an ugly scraping noise. Contrary to appearance Merle was not even trying that hard. It was merely an attempt to wake his mother up for the kid’s sake.  
Vicious though it seemed to an observer his mother barely moved.   
“Ma.” He yelled. “Ma the baby needs you.”  
The sounds coming from his mother was a senseless garble.  
Her oldest son resorted to shaking the woman this time. Hoping to appeal to her maternal instinct by letting the baby cry directly into her ear. “Ma. Wake up the baby is crying,” he yelled for emphasis.  
The woman finally reacted though not the way Merle had hoped she would. Swatting at the nuisance she blurted out irritated as only a drunk could.  
“God damn it can’t ya see I’m tired? Take care of your brother Merle.”  
“But Ma…….  
“Get the hell out of here. Take care o him. Don’t be such a God damned selfish baby. Give him some milk boy.”  
Merle backed out of the room. There was no reasoning with her when she was that drunk. She didn’t even realize that there was no milk in the house. Milk was rarely in the house. The town had a small grocery store just 2 blocks away from his street there he could find Mild. Surely the $5 he knew where in his mother’s purse would be enough to cover some milk at the Silberman’s.   
But it felt wrong. He had never actually gone into that store. His father hated the Silberman’s. And the old man made sure his son and wife knew it. They were Jewish and everyone knew Jewish people could not be trusted according to Will. They would rob you blind with their “business” ways, and con every penny out of you. But Merle was desperate. The baby was crying and the Walmart was too far away to walk to with an infant. And his father be damned the little guy was hungry If the Jew’s store was the closest one then he’d go there. It only bee this one time. His daddy wouldn’t have to find out. He certainly wouldn't tell him. The Silbermans would not tell him cause his Dad did not talk to them Jew’s. It be fast in and out and then the baby would have some food.   
The first thing Merle found out that day was, two blocks were farther than he had expected it to be. Alone he would have run the mile in no time flat. But he could not run with the infant. He held him cradled in his arms like he Mom had shown him and was careful not to jostle the little Tyke too much. The second thing he was to find out that even a small weight like his baby brother got pretty heavy for a 12-year-old in the Georgia heat. When he finally arrived at the store’s front door he felt as though he could not have walked one more step. Grateful that it had only been two blocks, he opened the door and stepped into to old time family store.   
The air conditioning was bliss. The boy stood next to the door for a few moments to orient himself and to absorb the cool air inside the building. The store was nothing like Walmart. It was not open and overly bright with huge green signs hanging from the ceiling indicating which products where to be found on the shelves. And it smelled. It wasn't a bad smell. But it did smell like spices and flowers and wood.   
There was a counter with the cash register to his left, close to the door and behind it stood a man he assumed to be Mr. Silberman. Merle having been taught to be leery of Jewish people eyed the man suspiciously. Looking the man over. If he had hoped for something that set the man apart from anyone else, he knew he was disappointed. The man looked no different than a dozen other people Merle knew where not Jewish. The man was not even sporting so much as a Yakama. If truth be told Merle was not even sure this man was Mr. Silberman. With light brown hair, and pleasant face he could have been anyone. A little perturbed that identifying the sort of people he was supposed to despise proved more difficult than his father's rhetoric had led him to believe. Merle decided to ignore the man as long as he could and went through the aisles in search of Milk. He found infant supplies in one of the aisles and grabbed a couple of bottles since they were very cheap. He found the freezer in the back of the store and grabbed a gallon of whole milk. How much could a little Tyke drink of this stuff in one day anyway? Doing the math quickly in his head he knew he had more than enough to cover his items. Relieved to have found what he needed so quickly he let his eyes wander. The freezer was filled with so many tempting things. Ice-cream, pudding, even yogurt. He knew that his $5 did not extend so far as to allow himself a treat. Again resentment rose in him. Until now it hadn’t bothered him all that much that he had to do without so many things other Kids his age took for granted. But today, with his brother in his arms, faced with so many responsibility’s thrust upon him. Getting a taste of what it meant to be an adult with none of the benefits the anger that was never far from the surface gnawed at his insides, anger made him erratic. He wanted to break something. He wanted that ice cream. He wanted his brother to stop mewling. He wanted a mother that gave a fuck about him and this baby in his arms. He wanted a Dad that didn’t beat the crap out of him for no good reason at all. He wanted his grandmother. Merle had always been able to run to grandma when things where bad at home. His baby brother wouldn't even have that. All he had was Merle. And Merle! Merle wanted ice cream.   
Disappointment sitting like a lump in his gut Merle dragged his items and the baby back to the front to pay for the purchase. There was no use in wanting something he could not have, not night now. And the faster he got that milk into the Baby the sooner he would shut up.  
The man behind the counter who he assumed to be Mr. Silberman eyed him suspiciously. It did not escape Merle that the man’s eyes wandered over him, his pockets as though searching for something hidden.   
The man had expected him to steel Merle realized and almost smirked. It's not as though stealing was beneath him. Or that he had never done it before. But it tickled him that he had proven the old coot wrong.   
“No school today?” the man asked pleasant enough.  
“My Mom is sick, I gotta take care o’ my brother.” (His mother was always sick.)  
“Aren’t you the Dixon boy?”  
“Yeah.” (What of it?)  
“That your brother?”  
“Yeah?” Merle was wondering where this was going. There was something, Merle could tell there was something. It was in the man’s face. He all but expected to get kicked out because of something his Dad had said or done or both. Wouldn’t be the first time. But whatever it was, the man did not say it and started to ring him up.   
Merle was hoping that was the end of it but Mr. Silberman was not willing to let it go quite yet. And then Merle learned something else.  
“You know infants can’t drink that kind of milk right? That milk is not for your brother is it?” That question Merle had not expected. And no Merle had no idea. Wasn’t milk, milk? What other kinds of milk was he supposed to look for? When he said as much he knew that he had been caught in his lie. And when Mr. Silberman asked if his mother didn’t tell him his suspicion was confirmed. Now this Jew knew what a deadbeat his mother was and would act all superior and probably tell him to come back when he knew what he wanted. Or better yet, send a parent. And that would happen as soon as hell froze over.  
“You need to go back to the baby supplies and pick up a can of formula.”  
The woman’s voice surprised him from one of the aisles behind him. She motioned for Merle to follow her back into the depth of the store back to the isle where he had found the bottles. Then pointed at an array of baby formula brands. None of which Merle had ever herd off. Being at a loss at which kind the baby needed Merle looked at the prices and his jaw dropped again. All of them, even the cheapest brand was more than he had to spend. The baby whimpering in his arms, faced with such incredible obstacles Merle almost started to cry. But just almost. If his Dad did not beat the snot out of him for shopping in the Jew store, he would surely do so for crying like a girl.   
Dejected he searched his jean pockets for any extra money, anything other than pocket lint. Pulling the $5 bill out of his pocked he stared at it as though it would multiply if he just stared at it hard enough.  
“How old is your Brother?” He heard Mrs. Silberman ask quietly beside him. The woman was staring at the boy holding the whimpering infant ever so careful to his chest. He looked so overwhelmed her heart went out the kid. She was never quite able to explain it to herself later. Lord knows she knew Dixon. Everyone knew Dixon Will Dixon and Duane Dixon before him. She had certainly seen young Merle Dixon about town being the mini Dixon knock off that he was, she expected nothing good to ever come from a Dixon. Yet here he stood. Lost, alone; with a baby in his care.   
“June, No!” Mr. Silberman shouted from the counter. For an old guy, he moved very fast.   
“Where is his mother?” Mrs. Silberman asked just as quietly.  
“Sick.” Merle lied. Though he knew that she knew he was lying. Merle could not sell his Mother out.  
“This is none of our business June.” Mr. Silberman now stood right next to his wife not looking very pleased. He knew where this was going. His wife has always had a soft spot for hard luck cases. And it didn’t get much more hard luck than a boy with a baby and not enough money for food.  
“Will Dixon is not gonna thank you for sticking your Nose in his business.” Mr. Silberman explained as though it needed explaining. Everyone knew the kind of man Will Dixon was.  
“Darrel. Hush up now.” Mr. Silberman turned to her husband. Merle had never witnessed anything like this before. Mr. Silberman with a soft voice, without any cussing, put her husband in his place. 'Darrel. Hush up now'. Was all it took. There were looks between the two of them but Merle did not see that. All he saw and heard was Mr. Silberman backing down.  
“We cannot just send him back out there without anything, with a baby, Darrel. What kind of person would do such a thing?”  
“Will Dixon.” Mr. Silberman answered dead pan.   
“They are just children Darrel!” Discussion over. June turned to face Merle who was still looking at his money than the formula than back at his money.  
“You don’t have enough money do you!” it was not a question.   
Merle shook his head. “I don’t have anymore.” He admitted.   
“Tell you what.” Mrs. Silberman said with a tone of her voice that made Merle look up at her. “Way I see it you have choices, Mr. Dixon. You leave without the baby formula. I can let you have that can and start a tab for you and your parents will have to come in and pay for it. OR I can let you work it off.”  
Again Merle was dumbfounded. No one had ever suggested Merle was worth a job. Did this woman honestly suggest he, Merle Dixon could work it off? One thing was for sure of, he could not allow his parents to find out he was even here. So he could not start a tab. And looking at his brother’s tiny frame and hearing his whimpers getting less and less he could not bring himself to leave without the formula he so urgently needed. The baby needed him to do this.   
“You will let me work it off?” he asked his eyes as big as saucers unable to hide his surprise and hope.   
“June!”   
“Yes!” Mrs. Silberman did not even think it over completely ignoring her husband’s warning tone.  
“I’ll do it.” Merle agreed eagerly before she changed her mind. Before Darrel could talk her out of it.  
“First things first boy. Let’s get your brother fed and I suspect he’ll need a change too.”  
Mrs. Silberman gently ushered Merle through the store, she grabbed a few things along the way to the back of the counter and showed him through a door behind it where the couple had a couple of private rooms. The Silbermans could rest back here during down times. It was a little home away from home.  
Mrs. Silberman who was a mother herself and now a grandmother had Merle sit at the table and gave him a glass of water.   
“You look like you need it, Son. Now; Let me have a look at this baby of yours.” She ordered in the kindest way Merle had ever been ordered. Disarmed by Mrs. Silberman’s concern and utter lack of distrust for the Dixon, Merle handed the baby over to the woman while he downed the water in front of him. If Mrs. Silberman found it in her to trust him, he could surely trust her.  
“He is so tiny,” she cooed. A big happy smile gracing her face. Merle found himself thinking that this Jew has the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  
“How old is he?”  
“Three weeks,” Merle answered truthfully, mesmerized by this woman, and her gentle eyes.  
“What’s his name?”  
Merle was about to answer her, then shut his mouth. The baby was 3 weeks old and all anyone had ever called him, was “The Baby.” Or in his father’s case, the whelp. No one had bothered giving him a name yet. At that moment Merle made a decision, one of very few he would never regret.   
“Daryl!" he blurted out. "His name is Daryl."   
And to his delight, the couple's faces lit up with broad smiles. And he didn't care that they were Jewish. Didn’t care that his father hated them. Didn’t care that he was supposed to hate them too. These people were good people, better than his Dad without a doubt.  
The Silberman’s showed Merle how to mix the formula and showed him how to feed the baby and burp him in the rooms behind the counter of their store. Mrs. Silberman gave him hints on how to calm a colicky stomach, how to rock a baby to sleep. She also told him where he could get free food, from the food bank and helped him enroll baby Daryl in a state-funded program that would provide food stamps for the baby and Merle. Because Daryl was small for his age he qualified without much ado. And all it took for Merle to keep his brother on the program was for his mother to show her face at the office every 3 months. Merle made sure she did, even when he had to drag her drunk ass the whole way on the bus and through town. Mrs. Silberman gave Merle chores to do to let him work off the cost of the formula. There are, after all, no free rides in this world. But Merle didn't mind. He had no illusions, he was no naïve entitled little brat like those idiots in his neighborhood. He knew what Mrs. and Mr. Silberman had done for him and especially Daryl was nothing short of saintly. He would never be able to repay them. And that was the fourth lesson Merle had learned that day.   
Merle did grow up to be a chip off the old Will Dixon block. Spouting racist, sexist, derogatory rhetoric like the hick his father raised him to be. But when it came to the Silberman's, Merle forgot all the indoctrinated differences, imagined or made up. The Silbermans at least transcended all man-made barriers for Merle. And his brother, named after Mr. Silberman, was the only person he ever really cared about in his own twisted messed up way.   
His parents never asked why Merle started calling the Baby, Daryl. They hadn’t even thought of a name for the baby and Daryl as far as they cared, was a good a name as any. If Merle wanted to call him that, then Daryl it would be.   
Merle didn’t know about birth certificates until much later. Neither he nor Daryl knew that his parents never changed it to add his name and Daryl Dixon was forever known as Baby Boy Dixon in the public birth records of that year, Daryl never got a social security number either and never got a driver's license It was a little like he was never really born at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I do appreciate some feedback. Let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I appreciate feedback. I'm hoping to add some more down the line as the muse strikes me. If she strikes me.


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